Head trash, imposter syndrome, and soundtracks in our mind
A little while back, I found myself venting my frustrations to a close friend of mine, who also happens to be my boss. I was sharing my struggles and challenges, but as it turned out, I had completely misinterpreted the situation. I had concocted this wild narrative in my mind that had no basis in reality. Thankfully, the issue was trivial, but the fact that I let something insignificant trigger such a reaction bothered me.
That's when he dropped a nugget of wisdom on me:
"I'll work on addressing this problem. You work on your head trash."
"Head trash," he called it. I had never framed it that way, but it made perfect sense. It was the clutter in my mind that needed addressing.
“Before you speak, ask yourself if what you are going to say is true, is kind, is necessary, is helpful.”
I've come to realize that mindset is the cornerstone of everything. This revelation stands out as the most crucial lesson I've learned in my ongoing battle with imposter syndrome. Recently, I devoured "Soundtracks" by Jon Acuff, a book that delves into the inner monologues we subject ourselves to each day.
Ultimately, it boils down to mastering the art of managing our thoughts. It's a bit like a contemporary take on stoicism—training ourselves to steer the ship of our thoughts rather than being carried away by the currents of negativity.
It struck me that events, people, situations, and things aren't intrinsically good or bad; it's the value we attach to them that shapes our perspective. This realization has enabled me to filter my experiences through the prism of three crucial questions:
Is it true?
Is it helpful?
Is it kind?
This line of thinking draws inspiration from an age-old quote by Bernard Meltzer, who advised, "Before you speak, ask yourself if what you are going to say is true, is kind, is necessary, is helpful." It resonates with the Four-Way Test followed by Rotary Clubs worldwide:
Is it the truth?
Is it fair to all concerned?
Will it build goodwill and better friendships?
Will it be beneficial to all concerned?
Being a longtime Rotarian, I had never paused to consider that I should apply the same scrutiny to my internal dialogue as I do to the words I speak. Acuff aptly adds, "The same planes that drop bombs can also drop food. The same needles that inject poison also administer medicine." Our thoughts, like those planes and needles, require context.
My past has been marred by excessive self-doubt. Am I truly capable? Can I tackle this? What will others think? What if my idea falls flat? What if I fail? Moreover, I've expended far too much energy seeking validation from others when, in reality, I didn't need it.
This has perpetuated a negative cycle where self-doubt and the pursuit of external approval took center stage. A recipe for misery, if you will, and the sheer effort it demanded left me drained.
Over the years, I've tried countless strategies—some beneficial, others not so much. I've devoured more than 200 books on the topic, exploring everything from affirmations and self-talk exercises to extreme activities like firewalking and base jumping. I've attended seminars, established intricate routines, experimented with various forms of meditation, joined peer groups, engaged in therapy, had heart-to-heart conversations with Jesus, and spent significant time with Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, and a few more of their friends.
I've tested the waters of every possible approach—many were healthy, a few not so commendable. But the epiphany came when I added a new ingredient to this concoction of self-reflection and personal growth. Just going with it.
The concept of "embracing the suck," popularized by US Marines in Iraq during the early 2000s, became a guiding principle for me. Essentially, it means finding the silver lining in unfavorable situations. I took it a step further—rather than merely embracing challenges, I began welcoming them, even inviting them.
Why am I feeling this way? Could it be that my insecurities and discomforts hold meaning? They aren't inherently negative; they just are. Armed with context, I can now decipher the significance of these feelings and determine my response.
And so, this brings me back to my head trash. My entire career has revolved around writing in some capacity. I spent years in journalism, followed by strategic communications, and now marketing. Words have been my vocation for nearly two decades. But, until recently, I struggled to label myself as a writer.
Sure, I'd been an award-winning journalist, a regular columnist, a mentor in storytelling, and a paid wordsmith. But was I a writer? My answer was a resounding no. I'd somehow convinced myself that the title of "writer" was reserved for those gracing the New York Times bestseller list.
Each time I sat down to write for myself, anxiety would grip me. Negative soundtracks would play in my head. I'd worry about potential rejection. If someone didn't resonate with the opening, the story's arc, or its premise, I'd predictably assume they were rejecting me as a whole. This irrational fear led me to envision a future where failure meant homelessness in a van by the river. Clearly, a distorted perspective.
Rather than evaluating my skills objectively, I fixated on seeking others' approval. Instead of channeling my energy into growth and creation, I wasted time and mental space on negative narratives, harsh self-judgments, and head trash that proved neither helpful nor true.
I understand these aren't groundbreaking revelations. It's a fairly straightforward epiphany, lacking the shock value of a Tony Robbins firewalking spectacle or the bravado of a Gary Vaynerchuk tirade. However, by addressing our head trash, we open a path to progress rather than being ensnared in a relentless spiral of dysfunction and self-loathing.
So, there it is—yes, I am a writer. One line that I frequently use is, "Good writing is good thinking." Now, thanks to Acuff, I have another phrase to add to my collection:
"Writers write."
Hence, this week's edition of The Blind Copy is unlike the usual compilation of internet links and videos. This time, I've taken a moment to sit down and write—because, believe it or not, I am a writer.
(I'm not trying to convince you; I'm reminding myself.)